


Avengers (Victorian) Farm

by thebratqueen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Brian Banner's A+ Parenting, F/F, Fluff, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Victorian, Vintage Style Not Vintage Values, proof of concept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebratqueen/pseuds/thebratqueen
Summary: "Why don't you try staying here tonight? It's late. I have bedrooms I'm not using. Maybe the change of scenery will help."Tony smirked. "Normally when I get asked to stay the night it's not in a spare bedroom.""Maybe a change of that will do you good too," Bruce replied____Aka:TBQ:Look coffeeshops are nice and all but I think fandom needs to pick up the obvious slack in Victorian Farm AUs.Bonibaru:Co-signed
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	Avengers (Victorian) Farm

**Author's Note:**

> **AUTHOR NOTES:**
> 
> Thanks to Airawyn and Spooloflies for invaluable beta help. Any errors are mine and probably because I ignored their good advice.
> 
> Thanks to Hesperis for the Russian.
> 
> Thanks to Bonibaru and others for encouraging me, especially those who came up with character job ideas including Spooloflies (Natasha, Carol, Maria), MK_York_Books (Steve), Bonibaru (Bucky), Bethbethbeth (Happy, though I tweaked her suggestion), and Basingstoke (unused in this fic but still appreciated!)!
> 
> **STORY NOTES:**
> 
> Victorian as in "shorthand for technology found in a time period" not Victorian as "takes place on this Earth and bares any resemblance to historical locations, laws, and deeply problematic politics." Consider it a Marvel What If which takes place in the alternate dimension of Earth-1844, if you will.
> 
> The first who correctly guesses why it's 1844 can have a fic snippet of their choosing that takes place in this setting. =)
> 
>  **WARNING FOR BRIEF MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH.** If that bothers you, click the link on "A flurry of movement broke out" and it'll skip past it. If the link doesn't work, jump five paragraphs down from the same sentence. It's safe again in the paragraph which starts with "Bruce supposed..."

**PART ONE**

"I apologize for the state of the inside," Ms. Potts - Pepper, she'd told Bruce he could call her Pepper - said. "We didn't expect anyone to arrive so soon."

"I'm sure it's fine," Bruce said. He didn't mention the part where he'd torn down all of the fliers posted in the nearby town offering lodging and wages to someone with medical skills. Better to be thought of as eager for the job, which was true, than as hopeful to avoid competition. Even if the latter was also true.

Granted, the phrase "nearby town" was relative. The building in question was located on farmland on an estate in the Carter valley. The valley was tucked away in mountains and rolling hills which were bisected by the river which gave the valley its name. The river provided the best transportation to and from the area to nearby civilization, but for passengers that required payment and waiting for scheduled trips for supplies to be taken to and from the area. Bruce had arrived via foot, which meant using the closest bridge twelve miles away. The town Bruce had come from had been two day's walk past that.

The trip was shorter by boat, but still: the valley was not a place one went to easily, or without purpose to be there. That suited Bruce just fine.

They reached the front door of the cottage, a two story building made of stone located at the top of a hill by the river. Pepper unlocked it with a key as long as her hand. Bruce winced when he saw dust fall from the door towards her sleeve. He didn't know much about lace but he suspected the several inches of delicate flowers and netting at her cuffs and collar were worth more money than he had or ever would own in his life. The silver and ruby brooch of similarly stylized netting she wore on the lapel of her finely tailored dress was certainly worth enough to buy the cottage and several like it besides.

She looked like the last person to spend time around anything which might have a hint of dirt. Yet she entered the cottage just fine.

Though a two story building, the cottage wasn’t large. Bruce could see almost the entire first floor from the doorway. He could wak from end to end without many steps. He followed Pepper inside.

"We did manage the basics," Pepper said. She pointed to the relevant items as she spoke. "The chimney's clear and the stove works. Coal and wood get delivered. Fresh mattresses and bedding for the bedrooms over there. We were waiting to clean upstairs before bringing them up but, well, as I said. All of the furniture and anything else is from the previous occupant. Make use of it however you like."

"And the garden?" Bruce asked.

"In the back. The door by the pantry leads right to it," she said. She wiped her hand over the back of a chair then flashed him an apologetic look at the smear of dirt which decorated her fingers. "Did I mention the washroom has a new copper? Anyway, feel free to take over more space if you need it. Gardening, foraging - honestly, whatever it takes to get you up and running faster is great for us."

Bruce shifted the weight of his pack on his left shoulder. Partially because it was heavy, partially out of a self-conscious need to prove he wasn't some random person who'd shown up that morning. He had supplies. He had knowledge. He could contribute. "I'll do my best."

"If you need anything from town talk to Happy," Pepper told him, referring to the gentleman who'd brought him to see Pepper when he'd arrived. "As for the rest - we make most of what we need so just ask around. Blacksmith, baker, dairy, you name it."

All of which came with even more gestures. Bruce hoped he wasn't expected to memorize them to find his way around. "Thanks. I will."

"Right." Pepper handed him the key, then offered her hand - the clean one - to shake. "It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner."

He shook her hand in return and tried not to flinch at the title. "Bruce is fine, really."

* * *

Cleaning was the first task Bruce set himself to. Though he’d stayed in worse – _much_ worse – the place was still covered in the dust and grime of being unused. The pump faucet of the kitchen sink didn’t work, but fortunately there was another water pump outside. Bruce allowed himself to be grateful he hadn’t set himself up for days of hauling water up and down hill from the river.

The cast iron stove was coal burning. Bruce got a fire going inside of it and set water to heat up. It went against habit to burn fuel when it wasn’t yet cold, but if he was going to be seeing patients in the house the place needed to be sanitary.

Bruce worked methodically, one square foot at a time, just as his mother had taught him. He worked top to bottom, from the cobwebs on the bedroom ceilings down to the stains on the kitchen floor. The repetition of scrubbing, rinsing, and drying over and over was tiring, but soothing. Bruce could think back to what had passed for happier times. If nothing else it distracted him from worrying about the present.

It took all day. By the end of it Bruce's back hurt, his knees ached, and his hands felt as though they'd soaked in enough water to dry out the river. Things weren't as clean as if he'd had soap at the ready. But it was livable.

Bruce treated himself to a cup of tea and a slice of bread and hard cheese he bought with him. He used the remaining hot water to wipe himself down from all the dirt and sweat. He then dragged the largest mattress upstairs to the bigger bedroom, tossed it on the frame, and threw himself on top.

It didn't feel like home yet but it felt like somewhere he could stay for now. That was more realistic, which made it better.

* * *

The next morning Bruce allowed himself to be more civilized. He put the linens on all of the beds - not that he anticipated using the spares, but the sheets would help keep the new mattresses clean. He also unpacked.

It wasn't comforting. Bruce knew, abstractly, that unpacking was a way to make a place feel like a home. But for him it felt foolish. Like he was placing a bet he was guaranteed to lose. Permanence was not something he got to enjoy. He lived best being able to quickly grab a bag and go.

But he'd done that for years now. It wasn't easy, and in colder months it was worse. At least trying this gave him a chance of having a roof over his head when the snow came.

Bruce compromised by keeping the separation of what he'd brought. His own items he kept upstairs in his room. Easy to get them if he had to leave. The rest could go anywhere else. It would be a loss of the money he'd invested in the materials, but if he had to run it wasn't as though he could try doing medicine again any time soon.

That left the garden.

Actually there was also foraging, but Bruce knew the wiser move was to get plants into the ground as soon as possible. Summer was coming to a close. That left a few months of growth for hardier herbs and vegetables. This, too, felt like a gamble. Or like writing a postcard his future self wouldn't be there to read. But this gamble also involved the risk of spending money if he didn't do it. Better to put seeds in the ground in the hopes of benefiting from the plants they bore than risk having to buy things to survive the leaner months.

At least these plants were made for autumn growth. They would sprout quickly, and be ready to use over the coming weeks. They didn't require the leap of faith that a spring harvest would. Bruce couldn't imagine ever planning that far ahead.

For right now, the garden needed to be reclaimed. Weeds and rocks needed to be dealt with, and the dirt turned over if not somehow revitalized. A search of the outer buildings turned up gardening equipment in what Bruce guessed was the pig sty. There was a hoe and shovel, as well as some pails. Bruce brought them over to the garden and got to work.

Or he tried. The equipment had been stored outside, which meant it was rusted and, in the case of the wooden handles, not a little rotten. The blade of the hoe kept knocking askew and the handle of the shovel broke off entirely.

Bruce sighed. He'd done more with less in his life. He'd had to. But the garden was too big for him to attempt by hand and there wasn't enough time to try to set things right with non-working equipment.

He sized up his options, selected the shovel, and went to find the blacksmith.

* * *

Pepper's pantomime of directions weren't specific enough to help. However a passing child who introduced herself as Monica pointed him on the right path. It turned out the blacksmith was by the river a half mile downhill from the cottage. In hindsight Bruce realized he could've seen it from the windows of the smaller bedrooms if he'd spent more time in them.

Bruce expected a shack of some kind. Instead he found a building comparable in footprint to the cottage, if not bigger. The exterior was stone, with large openings Bruce assumed were to allow air circulation to help with the heat. Wooden structures on the outside connected the building to a waterwheel, which clattered away as the river powered it along.

Inside was more wood, and metal, and chains which crisscrossed in a maze of rods across the ceiling. Bruce gave up trying to follow it all with his eyes and instead used sound to guide him. It led him to a mechanism of turning gears which were attached to something about the size of a horse drawn wagon, but bore little resemblance to it. Instead it was a skeleton of metal bars, wheels, and more gears.

A man was bent down towards the back of the… whatever it was. He was about Bruce's age. He wore dark pants, a vest, and a leather apron which covered his chest and legs. No shirt, which meant his arms were exposed. Given the sweat pouring down his skin, Bruce supposed he couldn't blame the concession for wanting to keep cool.

The man's hair and beard were more neatly trimmed than Bruce would've thought a country blacksmith would've kept. But then again Bruce supposed he didn't have experience enough with blacksmiths of any kind to make comparisons.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I - "

"Ah!" without looking towards him, the man raised a hand to gesture for Bruce to wait. He twisted something on one part of the metal, moved a leather band on another, then stepped back. There was a pause when the only movement was the crackling of the forge's fire, and the rush of the waterwheel. Then there was a _bang!_ and the sculpture of metal revealed itself to be a machine, the band and gears spinning into life and powering, Bruce now saw, two rows of wickedly sharp blades down near the ground.

The man clapped his hands in triumph. "See that? And they wanted to use _scythes_. Can you imagine?"

"I honestly can't," Bruce said, since he had no idea what they were talking about.

"Nor could many," the man said, as though they were in agreement. He flipped a lever and the machine spun to a halt. He turned his attention to Bruce, frowning as he looked at him for the first time. "You're new."

"Arrived yesterday," Bruce confirmed. _Moved in_ sounded more permanent than he was able to admit to. "I answered the ad for the cottage. I'm Bruce."

"We had an ad?" The man frowned, then shrugged it off. He turned back to the machine, bracing himself against it and pushing it towards an empty area at the side of the smithy. "I hope you're not expecting me to fix that hunk of metal in your hands."

"What should I call you?" Bruce prompted when no name was forthcoming. Then the rest of the man's words hit him. "Wait - what?"

"Tony's fine," the man - Tony - replied. The machine put aside, he wiped his hands on his apron. "See, here's the thing - what do you do?"

Bruce wasn't entirely sure they were on the same topic but he answered all the same. "Medicine."

"Great," Tony said. He motioned for Bruce to continue. "Tell me something you make. A potion or whatever."

"Blackberry tea," Bruce replied. Both because it was mundane enough to mock the idea that what he made was _potions_ and because he'd had blackberries on his list of things to try to forage later.

"Perfect," Tony said. If he'd picked up on the mild rebuke in Bruce's choice, he didn't show it. Instead he pulled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling, dragging it along a rod in the direction of the fire. "Now let's say I come to you with a cup of mud with some water in it. Could you turn that into blackberry tea? Possibly. I don't know your skills. But my guess is whatever the end result is would still taste like dirt. Am I right?"

"I just need a shovel," Bruce told him.

The chain reached the end of the rod. Tony attached the bottom link to a hook on the wall then flipped a nearby lever. The sound of the gears around them stopped, then started again as the waterwheel began powering the bellows. " _Yes_ , a shovel. And if I used that hunk of metal - which, by the way, has _never_ touched my hands before which should be blatantly obvious due to its lack of quality - you would not, even with my considerable talents, end up with a shovel. You would end up with what could at best be called a _shovel shaped object_. Which is why I'm making you a new one. Feel free to toss that mark of someone's shame over in the scrap pile."

Bruce held on to the pieces. "I - we should talk price. I'm fine for an object if it's what I can afford."

"We don't do price," Tony said. When Bruce looked at him in confusion, he grinned. "Not how it works here. First of all, no one could afford me. Second, money is for them - " Tony pointed towards the river. "What comes in, what goes out. Personal supplies, things outside the job, whatever gives you a special tickle of joy in your heart or other areas. Around here it's more like barter. You scratch my back, I at some point in the future perhaps rub perfumed oils down the surprisingly lean muscles of yours. Simple as that."

"I'll make you tea," Bruce told him, quickly pushing aside the mental image of what it would be like if Tony and his bare arms ever got that close to him. Not that he thought Tony was serious. "How do you keep track?"

"We don't." Tony used a large pair of tongs to put a flat piece of metal into the fire. He wiped sweat off of his brow as he watched the metal grow hot. "It's sink or swim around here. Either we all succeed or we don't. We can't have - whatever - one person suffering because crops fail or Barnes gets it into his head to run the sheep off a cliff some day. We all live here. It evens out. What are you going to use the shovel for?"

Bruce looked down at the pieces in his hands, then back at Tony. "To dig?"

This earned him a heavy eye roll over Tony's shoulder. "I need _more_ than that. You're digging… what? Ditches? Tunnels? Early graves of your enemies?"

"Oh." Bruce finally set the pieces down onto the scrap pile. "Um, a garden. Vegetables and herbs, mostly."

"Which doesn't rule out the last option," Tony pointed out. He held up his hands. "But I'm not judging."

Bruce was saved from having to reply as Tony took the heated metal out of the fire and brought it over to an anvil. The air rang out with loud, sharp clangs as Tony hit the metal with a hammer, moving it from one part of the anvil to another seemingly without thought. At first Bruce thought it was a practice run, the metal was being shaped into hard right angles which bore no resemblance to something which could be used to dig. But within minutes it went from nothing to something: a shovel blade with a finely shaped curve, lip at the back, and point at the front for digging into tougher spots. Another stop by the fire and a grab for ready materials attached a brand new handle.

Once done, Tony dipped the blade into a nearby bucket, pulled it out, and spun the shovel around to face Bruce, handle first.

"Dig in good health," Tony told him. "Which I guess is a requirement, given your job description."

"Thank you," Bruce said. He held the shovel in both hands. It was solid and well balanced. With this in his hands there was nothing preventing him from truly starting the garden.

Which left one question.

"Do you know where I can find some fertilizer?"

* * *

"I think we can spare some," Maria Rambeau said, looking at Bruce as though _he_ were possibly in need of medical aid. Or as though he'd been kicked in the head by the horse she'd been shoeing when he'd walked up.

"I didn't know if it'd been earmarked for something else," Bruce told her.

Maria laughed. "It's horse shit. You need to build or fertilize, it's yours. Carol!"

The last part was a shout directed towards what Bruce assumed was Maria's house, located next to the small, brick covered forge which Maria was working in. Another woman came out, close in age to Maria and wearing a similar outfit of pants and a shirt, though without the leather apron Maria wore. Behind her was the young girl Bruce had met that morning.

"What's up?" Carol asked. Noticing Bruce, she gave him a nod. "Hey. Carol."

"Bruce," he replied. He smiled at Monica. "Good to see you again."

"The new doc needs fertilizer for his garden," Maria explained. Bruce started to wonder if it was worth it to keep insisting that his first name was fine, really.

"You're up at the cottage, right?" Carol asked. At Bruce's confirmation she said. "We can take the tip cart, shouldn't be long. C'mon, Lieutenant Trouble."

Bruce followed Carol and Monica towards the stables. He watched as Carol hooked a dark brown Fell pony up to a small cart. Her movements were quick and efficient. Even so she kept up a patter of conversation with Monica, prompting the young girl with questions about each step and either praising or gently correcting based on whether Monica got the answers right. Monica did better than Bruce would have assumed an 8 year old could do. She certainly did better than _he_ could have done.

Next was loading the manure. Bruce offered to help but Carol smirked.

"No offense, doc," she said, "but only one of the three of us looks like they have the upper body strength of a newborn kitten and it's not Monica, so…."

Bruce took the joke in the spirit it was intended, keeping his expression deadpan as he replied, "I can't see how that'd possibly be offensive."

Before long they were headed back to the cottage with a full cart of manure, Bruce and Carol walking on either side of the pony, Monica sitting at the front of the cart and holding on to the reins. In theory she was guiding but when Bruce looked over he saw Carol had a firm grip on the harness, one which would easily allow her to wrest control if anything went wrong.

"Thanks for your help earlier," Bruce told Monica. Curious, he asked, "How'd you know I needed Tony and not your mom?"

Monica gave him a look which was the spitting image of the expression her mother had given him earlier. "You said blacksmith. Mom's a _farrier_."

"Tony doesn't like dealing with horses," Carol explained.

"Is that why they have separate forges?" Bruce asked.

"No, that's because Maria doesn't like dealing with Tony," Carol said.

"Mom says he makes too much mess," Monica said. She added, to Carol, "She says she can handle Tony all right since she's spent so many years putting up with you."

Carol snorted. "Hopefully for very different incentives."

"Anyway," Monica turned back to Bruce, "any time you need help, come to me. When there's danger, _I'm_ in charge."

Carol, possibly noticing Bruce about to give Monica an indulgent look, said "She's not kidding. She knows where to lead others to safety if there's ever an emergency. Plus she can take care of herself in a fight. Isn't that right, Lieutenant Trouble?"

"Auntie Carol taught me how to throw a punch," Monica said, with a pride of accomplishment Bruce had never once felt at her age. Or any, for that matter.

"Darn right I did," Carol said, beaming up at her.

"Is that something which happens often?" Bruce asked. He felt a pang of worry in his gut but tried not to let it show. "Problems that need punching, I mean."

Carol shrugged. "Not really. A few of us pull double duty as security. We ride around the grounds, make sure nothing looks suspicious. But for the most part the worst we deal with is animals. I mean I suppose you could try to punch a fox but it's easier to let Goose handle it."

"Geese fight foxes?" Bruce asked.

"What?" Carol frowned at him. "Oh. No. I mean yeah, a good gander will scare a fox off. But I meant Goose, our cat. You do _not_ want to cross that kitty in a fight, believe me."

They arrived at the cottage not long after. Carol took charge of dumping the manure into the garden, assuring Bruce she had no problem letting him do the more tedious job of turning the dirt over once it was done, particularly since she had to get back to taking care of the horses.

Bruce felt unbalanced by accepting the favor but it didn't take long for him to see he'd only slow her down by trying to help. Instead he left her to work - Monica supervising - and went to get mugs for them to drink water from.

Or he intended to, when he was stopped by the sight of two wooden crates outside of his front door.

Carol noticed his hesitation, and what he was looking at. "Huh. I didn't know Happy was doing deliveries today."

"I didn't order anything," Bruce said. But then he saw, in the shadow of the doorway, a brand new hoe. "But I think I know where they came from."

* * *

Practical matters needed to be dealt with first. It was afternoon and every day the garden wasn't done was a day's loss of growth. After Carol and Monica left Bruce pushed the crates, unopened, into the cottage and got to work.

He used the new hoe, though. That was only common sense.

The garden wasn't large but it still took a couple of hours to get the manure and dirt mixed. That done, Bruce got to planting. It wasn't a lot, late summer wasn't the best time for new growth. But he was still able to work with the seeds he'd purchased before his arrival. Arugula, beets, fennel, rosemary, spinach and more went into the fresh dirt. Mint went into pails now doubling as pots to ensure those plants didn't take over the hillside.

By the end of it all it was past sunset and well past dinner. Bruce cleaned the dirt off of his hands and face at the pump outside, then went in to eat. He had more of the cheese and the bread and stared at the wooden crates by the light of the one candle he allowed himself.

He debated leaving the crates where they were. The day had already involved too many people and too many favors. Retreating to the cool, dark silence of his bedroom and trying to ignore the world was highly tempting. He could always open them in the morning.

But there was no way of knowing if something in the crates might be ruined if he waited so he pushed forward before he could talk himself out of it.

The lids weren't nailed on, making them easy to open. Inside was straw, carefully packed around medical supplies.

Not herbs or the like. Based on the dust coating the items inside anything medicinal in nature would have lost all potency by now. But materials. Jars, ramekins, storage boxes, and two mortar and pestles: one large and one small.

There were labels, quills, ink, funnels, and mixing bowls. There was even a brass scale with a full set of weights tucked safely into a velvet-lined drawer fitted into its base. The brass was tarnished but it was nothing that couldn't be polished.

It was more than Bruce had ever owned and nicer than anything he'd had access to in more years than he cared to count.

This was definitely something he would deal with in the morning.

* * *

"Perfect timing," Tony said, when Bruce showed up at the forge the next day. Tony gestured to the man standing beside him. "Doc, take a look at Rhodey's leg."

"He does _not_ need to look at my leg," Rhodey said. He gave Bruce a nod of greeting. "Hi, by the way."

Bruce didn't need to know context to understand what they were talking about. There was a metal brace on Rhodey's left leg which went from ankle to hip. It had hinges to allow for movement at the joints with strong bars to support weight. Based on Rhodey's otherwise solid appearance, Bruce guessed the weakness in the leg was due to some kind of accident, rather than childhood illness.

"Do you need a check up?" Bruce asked. "I could if you needed?"

"See? Doc agrees with me," Tony said. He made a motion of encouragement to Rhodey. "Go on. Drop trou. We're all friends here."

"I am _fine_ ," Rhodey said. He punctuated the statement with a stern look at Tony. "I am a grown ass man who can decide for himself if he needs to see the doctor."

"Probably a little early to tell the new guy you're an ass man," Tony pointed out. "I mean his is fine, let's not lie, but still."

"Why don't we tell the doc about you sleeping then?" Rhodey replied. "Or _not_ sleeping, as the case may be?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed Tony's face. He swept his hand back in the direction of a cot tucked into a far corner of the smithy. "You're going to be like that? I sleep! I sleep when I need to, which is when I am not working. I mean if you'd rather try carving rocks with your _hands_ because I was napping when you needed a new drill bit _fine_ but excuse me if I'd rather prioritize helping my friends."

"I don't need help," Rhodey said, speaking each word firmly. He relaxed and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Look, I appreciate it. I do. But my leg's not hurting. There's nothing anybody has to worry about. If that changes, I'll tell you. Promise."

Tony grumbled, which Rhodey seemed to accept as agreement.

"That's all I ask," Rhodey said. He let go of Tony and nodded to Bruce on his way out of the door. "Good to meet you, Doc."

"Here I just came to say thank you for the supplies," Bruce told Tony once they were alone.

Tony blinked, focusing on Bruce as though he'd forgotten he was there. "Oh. Yeah. That. That was - there used to be a doctor. Before you. He - uh - there wasn't any family. Figured maybe you could use it."

"I can, thanks." Bruce was uncertain how to continue. He wasn't used to being given things. Was there more to say other than gratitude?

"You know the thing is he's a jackass," Tony said.

Bruce frowned. "The doctor?"

"What?" Tony looked at Bruce, then shook his head. "No. Rhodey. He _won't_ complain. He won't say anything and then it gets - whatever - cold and wet and then he's in pain and _he_ can't sleep and - "

Tony sighed. He rubbed his eyes. "Look, if you could - I don't know. Keep something handy for him? It's his hip, mostly. It aches."

"There's a few things," Bruce assured him. He moved pain relievers and salves higher on the list of things to make once he had everything he needed. "I'll make sure to have some for him."

Tony dropped his hands down to his sides. He smiled at Bruce. Not a grin or a smirk. A gesture of relief, if anything. "Thanks. I owe you."

"No, you don't," Bruce said, and he realized that was true.

* * *

That afternoon, Bruce went foraging. He was happy to find anything, but kept an eye out for goosegrass and ribgrass. Colder weather was coming, they'd be needed for coughs and fevers.

Food was anything he could find. Bruce knew better than to be picky. Luckily there were wild berries which hadn't yet been gathered. He added blackberries, blackthorn, and winberries his second basket. On their own they wouldn't make a meal, but something was better than nothing and there were various cures they could be used in besides.

Bruce went slowly. There was no need to risk getting lost or overlooking something useful. The work was pleasant. Calming. The sunlight was warm but breezes coming through the shade kept it from being oppressive. For at least an hour the only sounds were the wind, birds, and the distant rush of the river.

Then there was a woman's voice.

"So you're the one who tore down all our fliers."

Bruce stabbed himself on a thorn in his surprise. He instinctively sucked at the wound on his thumb as he turned to see who had spoken.

Her dress was fine, tailored. Far more expensive than the clothes Bruce was wearing. She gave him an imperious look, then relaxed, offering him a hand. "It's fine. I would have done the same. I just wish I'd known someone wanted the job so badly before I spent all that time hanging them up. I'm Natasha."

Bruce took her had as he stood up. "Bruce. Which I guess you know."

"Pepper told me," she confirmed. She looked him over, studying him as though measuring him against what else she'd been told. "You seem to be doing all right so far. I haven't heard complaints."

"Would you?" Bruce asked.

"I make it my business to listen," she replied. She motioned for him to pick up his baskets. "There are some apple trees this way, if you want. Follow me."

"I won't say no." Bruce fell into step behind her as she led him through the woods. "What kind of a job is listening?"

"Unofficial," Natasha said. She guided him towards a clearing, stopping before they stepped out from the trees. She jerked her chin towards the open area. "Officially, I teach."

Bruce looked where she indicated. There was a group of children there, including Monica. The other children were mostly girls, but both the oldest, who seemed a few years shy of puberty, and the youngest, who couldn't have been more than four, were boys. They were scattered along a hill, watching the ground intently. A one-eyed dog roamed around them, focusing on no child in particular.

A flurry of movement broke out. The dog darted forward as a dark spot leapt up out of the ground, caught by a net. The older boy grabbed the dog by the collar, saying "Lucky, no! Lucky, leave it!" and then praising when the dog abandoned the net to lick the boy's hand.

The next youngest, a girl, knelt by the net. She reached underneath it and pulled a squirming bundle out. Bruce saw it was a rabbit just as the girl made a sudden jerk with her hands and the animal went still.

"A doctor who doesn’t have experience with death?" Natasha asked when Bruce winced.

"I do, but - " Bruce swallowed. "Kids can do that? Start that young?"

Natasha shrugged. "I did."

Bruce supposed he wasn't one to talk about what was and wasn't proper for children to be involved with. Instead he remembered the few laws he knew about places like this. The one who owned the estate also had ownership of everything in it, from the land up to anything that lived there. "Is hunting okay? Don't you need permission?"

"It's blanket," Natasha said. She resumed walking, keeping to the edge of the woods around the clearing. "Hunting, foraging, we don't have to ask. Besides, if something I wanted was a problem Pepper would put in a good word for me."

Bruce's eyes were drawn to the pin which held her red silk shawl in place. It was silver and rubies, much like the brooch he'd seen Pepper wearing. It was also shaped like a spider. Bruce felt stupid as he realized Pepper's jewelry and lace hadn't been shaped like netting but webs. "I don't remember lessons like this in school."

"I teach what they need to know," Natasha replied. "Right now it's how to keep rabbits from ruining our crops. Other days it could be languages, math, dancing, embroidery. You never know what skills will help them."

Bruce noticed the possessive. _Our_ crops. Tony had spoken in a similar way about the output of the farm. Something _they_ did, not just the individuals in charge. Bruce decided to ask. "Is this usual for farms? The 'our'? I've never worked on one before but I would've thought everyone was responsible for themselves."

"Like in the cities?" Natasha asked, sounding like she spoke from experience. "No, not exactly. Some things require everyone pitching in. There's no way a family could bring in a cereal harvest on their own, for example. Anywhere you go you'd be expected to help. But here it's different."

They reached the end of where the woods touched the clearing. Natasha paused to check on the children. The younger ones were occupied with petting the dog. The rest were busy watching the nets on the ground. Satisfied, Natasha turned to Bruce again. "The man in charge of the hay and cereal crops, Clint Barton… he was the closest friend I'd ever had. He brought me here back when, well, when I would've been tempted to tear down fliers if that'd been the way to find a place for myself."

The verb tense didn't slip past Bruce. " _Was_ your friend."

Natasha nodded. "There was a flood. It was like one of those riddles: if you could only save one person from drowning, who would you pick? It was the two of us. I tried to save him. He succeeded in saving me."

"I'm sorry," Bruce told her after a few moments of silence.

Natasha didn't didn't look interested in sympathy, but neither did she brush him off. "He left behind a pregnant wife and two kids. There was no way Laura could've done it alone. That's when things changed. It was spring which meant we all had to work together to grow the crops to make sure we even _had_ something to harvest. More people came. Tony moved into the blacksmith's which - "

Natasha grimaced in a way that Bruce took to be about the uniqueness of dealing with Tony. "Was a mixed blessing?"

"I suppose that's one way to say it." Natasha adjusted her shawl, pulling it tighter around her shoulders as a breeze threatened to dislodge it. "But that's when it happened. We all started looking out for each other and never stopped. We're here, by the way. If you go down this hill you'll find some apple trees. Help yourself."

In the clearing, things were still calm. Natasha whistled for the children's attention. "Get the nets and put Kusalka and Golubetz into their basket. We're moving on to the next one."

Bruce didn't know what she meant, but the children did. They split up, most gathering nets and everything else as the two oldest bent down over the uncovered rabbit holes and stuck their arms inside. After a few tries, they pulled out two ferrets: one black, one white. The children gave the ferrets a cuddle before putting them into a securely covered basket and waiting for Natasha to join them.

Off of Bruce's puzzled look, Natasha said, "Could _you_ chase rabbits out of a warren?"

"I'll stick to medicine," Bruce replied.

* * *

**PART TWO**

Word spread quickly that there was a doctor around. The trickle of people Bruce met turned into a steady stream showing up at his door.

It wasn't that any were in bad health necessarily. But they needed things. Nothing unexpected: pains, aches, sneezing from pollen or the change in seasons. Sometimes they only wanted an expert eye to check a cut or a cough to make sure they weren't anything worth worrying about.

When patients weren't there, Bruce was busy making sure he had enough medicines in stock. He made teas, tinctures, liniments, and plaisters. As he promised Tony, he kept a set of pain relieving herbs and salves to the side in case Rhodey ever needed them.

With time the requests were enough that Bruce allowed himself to try ordering supplies he couldn't grow or forage nearby. He worried about the cost but Happy dismissed his concerns.

"We're not gonna pay for your curtains or whatever but if it's for your job then sure," Happy said. He gave Bruce an overly detailed form to fill out. "Write down what you need, make sure to get it to me by Wednesday if you want it in that week's shipment."

Bruce studied the form. "All of this goes under the estate's account?"

Happy looked annoyed Bruce wasn't paying attention. "Like I said."

Bruce had worried about leaving a trace of where he was. Not that he believed he'd be staying long, but even still it would be foolish to all but create a sign pointing directly to him. Knowing that orders wouldn't be under his name helped. He could request medical supplies without revealing anything. All that would be known was there was a doctor on the estate, not who the doctor was.

As for things like curtains, Bruce ended up not having to worry. His patients, seeing his spartan living arrangements, took it upon themselves to pay him back with their own spare goods and crafts. It wasn't long before Bruce had extra cooking pots, mismatched dishware, knitted blankets, rag rugs, curtains, and a duck and a chicken.

"Um," Bruce said, staring into the black eyes of the two birds in the carrier in front of him. "Am I supposed to - "

"For the _eggs_ ," Laura Barton said. "Also they'll eat the pests in your garden. They'll take some of your food scraps off your hands too, but for that you'll really want a pig."

"I'm good with the birds," Bruce told her.

Food also turned out not to be a concern. In addition to the supplies for his cottage, Bruce was given milk, butter, preserves, fruit and vegetables leftover from earlier harvests, smoked fish, salted pork, bread, and bacon.

Some skipped directly to giving him full meals, such as Monica's grandmother who, upon meeting him, declared him to be too skinny and took it upon herself to deliver him a pot of stew whenever she made what she claimed was extra. After the third time Bruce tried to protest that she didn't have to. In response she gave him a look so sharp Bruce almost felt compelled to apologize for everything he'd ever done.

"You tried to say _no_ to her?" Tony asked one evening, while replacing the faucet on Bruce's kitchen sink. "About _food_? I'm amazed she didn't kill you."

In addition to being the blacksmith where he was - as Tony frequently reminded anyone who could hear him - single handedly responsible for all of the tools and machinery on the estate, Tony was also responsible for repairs. Bruce discovered this one evening when he found Tony outside of the cottage, covered in mud, and working on the water pipe which led to the kitchen.

"You could have _told_ me your sink didn't work," Tony said. "I have to find out by rumor since _you_ can't communicate."

"I didn't know it was a thing to tell," Bruce admitted.

Tony pointed at him with a wrench. "Anything metal, anything _broken_ , you come to me. I'll take care of it. You know, when I'm not fixing the ninth ax Rogers has managed to break this week."

"I appreciate the help," Bruce said. And he meant it, for Tony and everyone else besides.

* * *

The hay and wheat harvests began with all of the adults gathered in the central barn, which doubled as a meeting area. Some brought their own chairs. Others sat on crates or leaned against the walls. Pepper and Happy sat at a table at the front which had been set up for that purpose.

By this point Bruce was happy to note he knew the names of nearly everyone assembled. He did not, on the other hand, know anything about harvesting. It seemed weather was a key concern.

"I've been watching the swallows," Carol said. "I don't think we're getting rain soon."

"Clouds aren't showing it either," Rhodey agreed.

Steve Rogers spoke up. "If we hit it fast and hard we should be okay. Get the hay on the ground and do the wheat while it's drying. Go back to the hay while the wheat is drying. If the weather holds and we don't stop more than we have to, we shouldn't have any problems."

"I have a question," Tony said, raising his hand from where he sat at the back of the group.

"No you don't," Pepper told him.

"I have a very _important_ question," Tony said, ignoring her. "Namely, does anyone have anything to say about reports this year's cider was made in inferior barrels?"

Sam Wilson shot a glare at Tony. "You're insulting my barrels?"

"Your barrels are surrounded by my hoops," Tony replied. "Which means even on your worst day they still wouldn't qualify as inferior. No. _I_ heard completely different barrels were used. The barrels of strangers, if you will."

"This is not what we’re discussing," Pepper said. "Let's go back to the schedule."

Tony held his hands out in an appeal to the group. "Talking harvest means talking harvest party. How is anyone supposed to give it their all if they aren't getting good drinks at the end of it?"

"The party will be _fine_ ," Pepper told him. "Just like it is every year. Nobody's done anything different - "

Next to her, Happy cleared his throat. "I - I may have used different barrels."

Off of everyone's groans, Happy said, "They were older! Aging makes a difference!"

"My lack of trust in you is a difference," Sam said. "The betrayal is real."

Pepper looked as though she needed a drink. Or a nap. "We'll test the cider before the party. In the meanwhile, everyone get ready to shift over to harvesting. Weather permitting, we'll start in two days."

* * *

Bruce got closure on his first meeting with Tony when he arrived on the hay fields to help with the harvest. The machine Tony had been working on cut the hay down. It was powered by two giant Shire horses which were bigger than any animal Bruce had ever seen. Carol walked beside the horses to guide them. Steve sat on a precarious looking seat on top of the machine, shifting levers to turn the gears on or off as needed. The sharp blades near the ground worked in a blur, dropping the tall grasses and clover down to the ground faster than the eye could track.

"An acre an hour," Tony said to Bruce. "Beat _that_."

"I absolutely could not," Bruce said.

The job of the volunteers was the less dangerous duty of raking. Cut hay had to be tidied into rows to make it easier for another horse-drawn machine to do something called tedding. As far as Bruce could tell all that did was throw the hay into the air and ruin the rows they'd made, but supposedly it helped with drying the hay out for storage.

The day was warm and the work was tedious but not difficult. The predictions about the weather held true as the sun shone down, only occasionally shadowed by puffy white clouds which didn't linger for long. Talking and joking amongst one another died down as the hours passed, but the time spent was still pleasant, companionable.

Groups of people came and went depending upon their responsibilities and schedules. Bruce had elected to stay for the day. His primary job was to care for patients. Anyone who needed him knew to find him there. Moreover Bruce felt it was better for him to be close by if anything went wrong with the machines which were effective but dangerous looking.

In spite of Bruce's concern, the worst that happened with any of the tools was before lunch when the children arrived. The field wasn't ready yet for them to lend a hand, so some of them grabbed the wooden rakes and played, dueling one another as though holding swords or staffs. At one point there was an echoing _crack_ when one rake hit another hard enough to sound as though its handle had broken. A quick check by Sam confirmed it was still in one piece and all was well.

Bruce turned to make a comment to Tony about it - half expecting Tony to already be joking about how if he'd made the rake there'd be no concern about its quality - and discovered Tony wasn't there. A quick scan of the field didn't reveal him either.

It was silly, perhaps Tony had only needed to slip off to get something back at his forge, but something made Bruce look for him all the same. He went to the last spot he'd seen Tony then walked outward. The field on this side butted up to a section of woods. It provided a quiet, shady spot which was handy for anyone was feeling overheated. Not that Bruce thought a blacksmith could easily be bothered by heat, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

A sharp gasp of breath got Bruce's attention. Bruce sped up, going towards it. He found Tony sitting at the base of a tree, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes were unfocused and he was sobbing for air as though he couldn't draw breath.

"Tony!" Bruce knelt by his side. He moved to touch Tony's wrist or chest to check his heart rate. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Don't! No - I _can't_ \- " Tony scrambled away. He held his hands up in front of him. They were shaking but the gesture was clear: no touching.

Bruce bit his lower lip in frustration. He couldn't help if he couldn't examine. He couldn't see any blood but still, "Are you hurt? Is it a wound?"

Tony gave a sharp shake of his head. He tried to take a deep breath but hiccuped before he could do it. He rocked in place, shivering like he was cold, and jumping at the slightest sound like -

Bruce realized Tony was acting as though he was terrified

"All right," Bruce said. He tried to keep his voice low and steady. He'd never seen anything like this before but he'd dealt with fear. You couldn't be a doctor without meeting plenty of patients who were frightened of the very sight of you. Whether it was a baby scared of being weighed or an adult needing a bone reset the technique was the same: distraction. Bruce hoped it would work for Tony now. "Tell me how you make a nail."

That got Tony's attention at least. He looked up at Bruce, puzzled, but still struggled for breath. "What?"

"A nail." Bruce fumbled for a guess at the process. "You… what? Heat the metal? Shape it? Put it in water?"

"You don't - " Tony struggled for breath again, but he looked annoyed enough at Bruce's error to keep going. "You can't - if you quench it it'll _shatter_."

And that turned out to be it. Tony kept going, Bruce prompting him, explaining about nails, drill bits ("The key is the color."), and more. After a few minutes the tension had drained from Tony's body. He leaned back against the tree, looking pale and exhausted, but calm.

Back in the field, people were starting to call out. Lunch had arrived.

"Do you want me to get you some food?" Bruce asked. He still itched to examine Tony to make sure he was okay, but at the same time he sensed he shouldn't press.

Tony shook his head. He pushed himself up to his feet, leaning on the tree for balance. "I'm gonna go. Could you - "

"I'll make excuses," Bruce promised.

Tony studied Bruce's face for a long moment before nodding. "Thanks."

* * *

That night Bruce moved restlessly through the cottage. It wasn't that he had energy to spare, the day hadn't been hard but it had been long. But even so it didn't feel right to go to bed. Not yet.

Finally he admitted his concern to himself and looked out the window of one of the spare bedrooms. He could see the forge from here. Not clearly, but the lights inside were still easy to spot in the darkness.

Bruce took a lantern and made the trip downhill before he could talk himself out of it.

"I never did make you that tea," Bruce said when he arrived.

Tony looked up from where he'd been cleaning a set of gears. Surprise registered on his face, but not displeasure. "Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Bruce brewed cups of meadowsweet. It wouldn't affect how awake they were, and it would prevent soreness from the day's work.

Tony sat at the kitchen table and watched him, his face illuminated by candlelight. He took a sip of the tea when Bruce placed a cup in front of him. "Huh. Tastes better than I would've expected."

"A few things of mine do," Bruce replied. When Tony quirked his eyebrows at him, Bruce replied by calmly taking his own sip of the nutty-tasting brew. He hadn't meant the comment to have a double meaning, but he suspected the best way to handle Tony in those moments was to show neither was he embarrassed by it.

"Touche," Tony said. He saluted Bruce with his cup, then placed it back on the table. "Thanks, by the way. For before."

"Does that happen often?" Bruce asked. "Not - you don't have to tell me. I don't mean to pry."

Tony shook his head, unbothered. "You would've seen it eventually. I'd rather people _not_ see it but - "

Tony sighed. He pushed his cup away as he leaned forward to face Bruce. "A few years ago I was making a delivery overseas. This was back when I made weapons, not tools. It was a group of us. We were attacked. I was… it was a few months before I came home. I was the only one who came home.

"The people who did it - it wasn't a _fun_ trip," Tony said. He brought his hands to the front of his shirt. He paused, "Mind if I - ?"

When Bruce nodded his permission, Tony undid the buttons. He pulled the shirt open, revealing his bare chest and a mass of scar tissue at the center of it.

No, not the center. Over Tony's heart.

Bruce moved his chair to Tony's side of the table. He reached out then stopped himself. "Sorry, I - "

"It's okay," Tony said.

Even so, Bruce kept his touch light as he touched the bumps and ridges on Tony's skin. He recognized keloid and contracture scarring. Not enough to tell him exactly what had been done to Tony, but enough to reveal it had involved burns, and injuries either left untended or deliberately treated to heal improperly. There was nothing Bruce could fix now. It was something Tony would have for the rest of his life. "I'm sorry."

Tony shrugged. "Anyway, ever since then I - I can't sleep. I mean I do sometimes. But normally I close my eyes and I see it. I see the attack and the bodies and - "

Bruce moved his hand to Tony's arm. He squeezed it firmly but gently, giving Tony something to focus on. "It's okay."

Tony took a shaky breath, then another. "Yeah. So I do what I can. I work. I tinker. And that handles it but sometimes there's a - a _thing_. Someone says something or there's a noise and I freak out. Like - like - "

"Like it's happening again," Bruce said.

Surprise crossed Tony's face. "Yeah. You?"

Bruce hadn't anticipated telling anyone this story, but it felt right to share it with Tony. "My mother died when I was young. They said it was an accident."

"You didn't believe them," Tony guessed.

"My father… was also not fun," Bruce said. "He was cruel. To me, to my mother. Nothing was ever good enough. Hurting us was how he kept order. When I saw my mother's body - "

"You knew," Tony said, when Bruce lapsed into silence. "He still alive?"

"No," Bruce said. "But even after he died, long after I moved more times than I can count, I would still get those memories. A sound, a smell, a _feeling_ and it's like I'm back there again, feeling helpless and - "

"Scared?" Tony said.

Bruce shook his head. "Angry. Certain things set me off and it's like I can't think or see. All I want to do is yell or - or do something violent. Do all the things I couldn't when I was a child."

If Tony noticed how Bruce had changed his words, he didn't show it. "You never struck me as a guy who loses his temper."

"I don't lose it," Bruce said. "I've learned to accept I always have that anger with me. That's taken a while though."

"Rather not have the freak outs if that's an option," Tony said.

Bruce swallowed the suggestion to give it time. Tony had been living with this for years. He'd already spent time. "Why don't you try staying here tonight? It's late. I have bedrooms I'm not using. Maybe the change of scenery will help."

Tony smirked. "Normally when I get asked to stay the night it's not in a spare bedroom."

"Maybe a change of that will do you good too," Bruce replied, and was rewarded when Tony laughed.

Tony took the room right at the top of the stairs. The bed was already made. Bruce gave him spare blankets since the night air was starting to have a chill.

"Sorry it's not as warm as a forge," Bruce said.

"It's okay," Tony replied. "Leave the door open. I don't do well - it's better not closed."

Bruce did as Tony requested. On impulse he did the same for his own door, making it easy for he and Tony to see each other if they needed to.

Bruce didn't know when he fell asleep. But when he woke the next morning he looked across the hall and saw Tony with his eyes closed, finally getting some rest.

* * *

It wasn't a solution. Tony slept the first night but others didn't come as easily to him. Some nights he stayed awake, working on sketches for new inventions or improvements to existing machines, long after Bruce was forced to admit he could no longer keep pace with him and had to go upstairs.

Other nights Tony could sleep but he woke, crying out or thrashing in his bed. This woke Bruce up in turn. Bruce then had to clamp down on the instinctive rush that went through him to act out at whoever was threatening him. When Bruce was able to see that he was in his room, in the dark, alone he could take a breath and then call out to Tony.

Once they were both awake they would stay where they were and talk. Bruce had Tony guide him through the basics of blacksmithing, then the more complicated explanations of how the machines on the farm worked. It helped Tony to return to calm, his fears subsiding as he outlined the steps, with not infrequent digressions on what he felt was the better way to do things compared to traditional methods.

Some nights Tony turned the tables and asked Bruce to do the talking. Bruce would lie in his bed, listing what medicinal plants could be foraged, which could be grown, which had to be ordered, and their uses. Tony would listen, sometimes interrupting with a joke about a plant's name, other times asking questions which showed he'd been paying attention. Eventually Tony's questions would fade. On those nights both he and Bruce managed to get some sleep.

During the day they did what they could for their jobs while still helping with the harvest. Tony would go to his forge and work on repairs. Bruce would restock his supplies and prepare medicines as needed. In the evenings they sat at the kitchen table, talking over the day's events or comparing notes on what they were doing. Tony's sketches began to include concepts for things for Bruce.

"You have to grind all of that? By _hand_?" Tony asked one night, looking appalled as he watched Bruce yet again prepare ingredients using a mortar and pestle. "That's disgustingly inefficient. Plus I can think of much better uses for that kind of wrist movement."

"I don't think Happy would agree to put the ingredients directly on his scalp," Bruce replied as he kept crushing alkanet into a fine powder. Happy had asked for something to help with hair loss ("Not that I _need_ it but, you know, just in case.") Since Bruce didn't believe anything could create hair growth, he was compromising with something that would condition Happy's hair and give a tint of color to hide the gray. Dryly, Bruce added, "To say nothing of what it'd feel like in suppositories."

Bruce was rewarded with a surprised laugh from Tony. They spent the rest of the night going back and forth over ideas for devices which could prepare ingredients without ruining their medicinal properties.

During all this the harvest continued. While the hay dried in its field, attention was turned to the wheat. This involved yet another machine, even larger than the last ones. It cut the wheat down and tied it off into manageable bundles. It took three Shire horses to pull it. Carol rode the one in the front to make sure it and the others stayed in line. Steve again took control of the machine.

"I'd think you'd be the one who wanted to operate it," Bruce mentioned to Tony as they watched the progress of wheat being cut down.

"Easier to see how I can improve it if I'm not in it," Tony replied.

The rest of them were responsible for gathering the wheat bundles and standing several of them together, six to ten bundles each, and leaning against one another to dry.

It was then back to the hay, and even more horse-drawn machines still larger than those that came before.

"Do you make them bigger on purpose?" Bruce asked Tony.

"I design to get the job done," Tony said, but a light in his eyes suggested perhaps sometimes size was a consideration.

The machines took care of tidying the hay into rows, then loading the hay into a wagon. The rest of them helped by raking up what hay the machines missed so it could be gathered in the next pass. Bruce watched carefully during this, but there were no sudden noises this time and nothing which set Tony off.

After the hay was gathered and stored in the various barns around the estate, there was only the wait for the wheat to be ready. The weather held and they descended on the wheat fields again. There was no machine this time ("I'm working on it," Tony said) so it was up to everyone to collect the wheat and put it onto a dray so it could be stored for threshing.

Tony and Bruce took the first turn of standing on the dray and piling the wheat stalk-side out so none of the grains were lost. It looked like the easier job, since it involved organizing more than strength. It wasn't until the dray was full that they realized the downside: they were too high up to climb down, and no one had remembered to bring a ladder.

"Guess we're joining this round," Tony said. He flopped back onto the wheat and patted the spot beside him. "May as well make yourself comfortable, Doc."

There wasn't enough room to lie next to Tony, but Bruce was able to stretch out in the opposite direction, the tops of their heads nearly brushing. They lay like that, the last of the warm sunlight of the season falling down on them, for the entire twenty minute ride to the barn.

* * *

The completion of the wheat harvest was a group affair. Adults and children alike joined to make sure every spare stalk was gathered. At the very end there was a presentation which Natasha explained to Bruce was theoretically for good luck but in reality mostly a way to signal it was time to celebrate. A small bundle of wheat was prepared and given to Nathaniel Barton who, at four, was the youngest of the children old enough to participate.

Laura whispered into Nathaniel's ear to prompt him on what to say. After several tries on her part, Nathaniel held the bundle up and yelled, "I did it!!"

Based on Laura's expression, this was apparently not the speech he was meant to give but everyone applauded and cheered all the same.

The party was held in the same barn as the meeting. A large spread of food was laid out. There was fresh bread, wildberry preserves, butter, cheese, and slices of ham.

Happy's cider was served. Sam had the first cup. He swished a sip of it around in his mouth before swallowing and declaring it to be, "Okay I _guess_."

"That's the highest praise you could ever expect for Happy's cider," Rhodey told Bruce as they watched.

After Bruce sampled his own cup of it, he saw why. It burned going down in a way that felt like he was choking, but it settled warm in his stomach and did have a fruity aftertaste. Even so Bruce kept to only one cup which he then switched out for water.

The children stayed at the party until sundown. After which the adults got louder, and rowdier. Instruments were brought out and songs sung about harvesting with increasingly bawdy lyrics.

Bruce tried to stay out of it, particularly since he didn't know the words, but his attempt to blend into the wall was thwarted when Natasha grabbed him and pulled him into a round of dancing. After which Tony stepped in, holding him and leading him through more rounds than Bruce paid attention to count.

Eventually the loudness and heat of the gathering was too much. Bruce went outside, taking in gulps of the cool, dark air. Tony followed him as they went around to the side of the barn. It was quieter there, with stacks of spare hay providing privacy from all the other people and protection from the noise.

"Doing okay, Doc?" Tony asked when they were alone.

"I genuinely am," Bruce said, surprising himself.

There was a moment when they could've gone back inside. Bruce recognized it in a twitch of Tony's muscles, an indication he or they both could leave if they wanted to. But Bruce stopped him, putting a hand on Tony's arm and pulling him closer.

Oddly, this didn't feel like a surprise. Bringing Tony in, letting their lips meet. It felt good. Right. Thrilling, yet safe.

After the first cautious brush of their mouths their movements became quicker, more intense. It was as though both of them saw no need to hold back now that permission was given. They stumbled back onto the stacks, falling together as clothes were fumbled open, bare skin touched, and they grasped and stroked one another until each came, gasping and whispering they wanted more.

When they were done Bruce took in the situation, then laughed.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. "I hope that's not a review of my performance."

"An actual roll in the hay," Bruce said. He was grinning like a fool and he didn't care. "I never thought I'd do it."

"Oh if it's a _roll_ you want," Tony said, and then there wasn't much more conversation as Tony pushed him back into the sweet smelling grasses.

* * *

**PART THREE**

As the weather grew colder, tasks became more indoor oriented, and focused on planning for the long winter months.

Tony shifted how he occupied what passed for his free time. He was still staying each night with Bruce, though not in separate bedrooms anymore. He still tinkered and sketched ideas for new farm equipment. But he also had ideas for the cottage.

"Thinking about expanding the plumbing," Tony said one morning as he finished eating his breakfast. Tony had cooked: eggs, bacon, toast. Tony's efforts to make meals which involved multiple steps tended to be… interesting. But, as Tony pointed out, if he couldn't successfully apply heat to an item to get the desired result he would need to find a new line of work, thus making simple dishes okay.

"Upstairs?" Bruce said. He paused in writing his list for Happy's next order. There were seeds and bulbs which needed to be put into the ground before the first frost came. "It'd save a lot of effort filling the bathtub."

"No. Well _yes_ ," Tony said. "But I was thinking more like a hot water tank."

"You put in hot water on tap I'll consider it a proposal of marriage," Bruce told him.

Tony grinned. "Duly noted."

Tony left, leaving Bruce wondering how certain he was that neither one of them had been serious.

* * *

Bruce's work was always indoors, of course, but requests changed with the seasons. In addition to the expected coughs and colds, Bruce was also called upon to use his knowledge to create supplements for the animals. Poultry needed help to keep laying eggs, cows and ewes needed help gestating healthy babies, and there were the usual needs to help sore muscles and infections, same as with the human patients.

Bruce was delivering a liniment for the horses when Natasha arrived. She gave Bruce a cursory nod and then addressed Carol. "We need to go out. Check around the border. You get the horses, I'll get the others."

"Got it," Carol said. She put the jar of liniment to the side and started readying tack and saddles.

Bruce knew he would only be in Carol's way, so he followed Natasha out the door. "Everything okay?"

"Not sure," Natasha admitted. "It's mostly a gut feeling. Nothing worth bothering Tony with yet."

She left before Bruce could ask her why it would involve Tony.

* * *

Weeks passed with no further word about Natasha's concern. Days grew colder as nights grew longer. What animals could be were brought into stables and barns to keep warm. Light snowfalls dusted the ground but fortunately not before fields and gardens were prepped for next year.

The longest night of the year was marked with a party. It was a more formal gathering than the end of harvest celebrations. It was held at the manor house, and nice dress was encouraged though not required. Everyone put effort in, however. The adults wore their best suits or dresses. Children did the same, often with new bows or ties to compliment their outfits.

Bruce hadn't been near the manor since his arrival months prior. Even then he'd only seen the exterior, not been inside.

The building was massive, multi-floored and sprawling across more land than Bruce had seen taken up by some cities. The architecture was stone, and old enough to feel as though it hadn’t been built but rather had always been there.

Inside the decor was dark, with elegantly carved wood on the walls and marble floors stretching out in all directions. Decorations of evergreen branches, brightly colored berries, ribbons, and vases filled with holly and ivy were placed in every available spot. Lit candles were everywhere, making the inside as bright as a midsummer day. Red and gold banners with messages like "Welcome Tenants" and "Solstice Celebration" were hung from the ceiling, guiding the guests from the entrance hall through to the food.

"Surprised there aren't any portraits," Bruce said as he took it all in.

"Those are upstairs," Tony said. He smirked. "Nobody needs to look at those assholes, believe me."

Given the number of guests, spreading out was encouraged. But the main festivities were in the dining room, a space which in and of itself was larger than any building Bruce had ever been in, his current home included.

Food was presented on a long banquet table for everyone to help themselves as they were hungry. There was roast pig; turkey; beef; and pies made of ducks, chickens, partridges, and pigeons folded together with streaky bacon and sealed in a buttery pastry crust. Platters were heaped with sage and onion dressing, mashed potatoes, hot bread, and roasted vegetables. For dessert there were cranberry and mince pies, fruits, cookies, candies, and nuts sweetened with honey and dusted with cinnamon. Wine and ale flowed freely.

There were special gifts for the children. Before long they were running about, showing off wooden or clockwork toys, their hands sticky from sweets and orange slices. Adults either shared their excitement or politely tried to avoid getting hand prints on their outfits. Tony helped some of the younger children understand how to get their wind up toys to work, which made Bruce suspect Tony had had a hand in making them.

The party went on for hours. Bruce relaxed and let the flow of energy and conversation guide him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been somewhere with so many people where he felt comfortable with each and every one of them.

Bruce was helping himself to more dessert when Happy approached him. "Hey Doc, someone at the entrance for you."

Bruce put plate down. "Who?"

Happy shrugged, popping a piece of gingerbread into his mouth. "Dunno. Somebody told me to tell you."

In spite of the crowd, it wasn't a full house. Some had been unable to come, others had shown but left early. The idea that someone might have come to the manor to request Bruce's help as a doctor was highly probable.

It was not, however, what had happened.

"Bruce," General Ross said, when Bruce opened the massive wooden door. "I'd say it's a pleasure but let's not insult one another."

The first thing Bruce felt was cold. Wind from outside blew winter air over his skin - there was a hint of moisture in it, there'd likely be snow tomorrow - but more to the point Bruce felt ice in his gut. He'd been stupid. He'd been foolish. He'd let his guard down. He'd left a trail of orders and not hiding behind a fake name and staying in one place for too long. He'd been there for _months_ , he'd made _plans_. He'd forgotten he didn't get to do that, to know people or care or think he could settle down and have hopes for a future or -

Bruce took a deep breath, pushing down the anger that threatened to overtake him. "You had to do this now? At a party?"

Ross spread his hands out, disclaiming responsibility. "I came once we knew we found you. It's not my fault if you've involved others in your mess."

Bruce glared. "I didn't - "

"Is there a problem, Dr. Banner?" Steve's voice interrupted him.

Bruce turned. Steve was standing behind him. Carol was next to him, her hands curled into fists at her side. Further back he could see Natasha standing by the staircase which led up to the second floor.

" _Mr._ Banner and I have no problem," Ross said. "We're just catching up before we leave."

"Yeah unannounced military showing up doesn't really tell me there's no problem," Carol said, indicating Ross's uniform. "Plus your face lacks sincerity, I'm just saying."

"Auntie Carol, Mom says - " Monica appeared in the entrance which led back towards the party. She stopped, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

"Lieutenant Trouble, we need you to report back," Carol told her.

"I'm on it!" Monica said, taking off at a run.

"And stay there when you do!" Natasha shouted after her.

Bruce forced down his rage again. This was too much. It was his fault. His friends, their _children_ , were being put in danger, all because of him. "Everybody, it's fine. I can handle it."

"You can handle it with us watching then," Steve said. He gave Ross a smile which didn't reach his eyes.

"Bruce, let's not make this more complicated than it has to be," Ross said. "You had a good run. Time to come in."

Bruce wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, Ross's face in particular. But this wasn't the first time Bruce couldn't get what he wanted. "Sorry everyone. There's plenty of supplies at the cottage to help you through winter. It's labeled. You should be okay."

Natasha shook her head. "Bruce - "

"The fun's out here and nobody told me?" Tony asked. He came through the entrance Monica had run off in. Several others were behind him, including Pepper, Bucky, Rhodey, and Sam. Tony's gaze fixed on Ross. "Oh hey. You don't have an invite."

Bruce's heart sank. He'd been denying how much easier this was without having to face Tony. "He's leaving. We're leaving."

"Leaving as in party or leaving as in - " Tony stopped when Bruce nodded at the second option. "Okay. Leaving as in leaving. Why?"

"This is a legal matter which doesn't need to concern anyone here," Ross told him. "Mr. Banner has evaded the law for some time now. I'll be happy to take him off your hands."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, looking at everyone in the room. He faced Tony last, forcing himself to look Tony in the eyes before stepping towards the door. "I didn't mean for this to affect any of you."

"Ah!" Tony held a hand out, stopping Bruce in his place. "Do you want to go?"

Bruce couldn't help but give a hollow laugh. "I _have_ to."

"Okay so that's a _no_ ," Tony said. He turned around to face Ross, standing in front of Bruce as he did. "He's not going."

Ross brushed a non-existent speck of dirt off of his coat as though giving his opinion of Tony. "That's not up to you."

"Funny story," Tony said, "it actually _is_."

"You're on his land." Pepper spoke up from where she was standing by Natasha.

Tony jerked a thumb back in Pepper's direction. "What she said. My land. My property. My tenants. My rights. You're trying to take someone who is my responsibility. Not a good look for you."

Ross finally looked at Tony as someone he had to pay attention to, but not give respect. "I am a _General_. Do you really think you could defy the military?"

"I think you're here on my land and at my door without my permission," Tony said. "I think you're trying to take one of my tenants, also without my permission. I think you're trying to overrule my word of law which starts getting out of my personal area of expertise but on the other hand I _know_ I have people who get paid a lot of money to fight those legal battles for me.”

Tony stepped closer to Ross. "I also know that if we're playing prestige poker my name beats your title. Which means _you_ should know that you need to leave, right now, and never come back. Because if you do I'll be happy to pretend you didn't break _several_ laws by being here. And if you don't I will shove my money, name, and privilege so far up your ass you'll taste it when you swallow. Am I making myself understood?"

Before Ross could answer, Tony slammed the door and turned away. Tony got three steps before he sighed and said, "Okay I hate to ruin a good door slam but somebody should make sure he actually leaves."

"We'll take care of it," Steve said, motioning to Bucky and Sam. Carol was already on her way outside.

Bruce stood there, stunned. Pepper waylaid Tony before Bruce approach him. Natasha came up to him instead, placing a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Bruce stared at her. "What the - "

* * *

" - _fuck_?" Bruce said again once he'd gotten Tony alone. They were in the library. There was a large wooden desk, shelves filled with books, and leather chairs. "You _own_ this place?"

Tony was rummaging around in cabinets. "I know there's alcohol in here somewhere. Wait - what? Yes. Obviously."

Bruce didn't think he was going to stop staring anytime soon. " _Obviously?_ "

"Stark," Tony said, as though that explained things.

" _Tony_ ," Bruce replied, by way of a rebuttal.

"Yeah, as in _Anthony_ Edward _Stark_ ," Tony said. He gave up on his search. He leaned against the front of the desk, facing Bruce. "Stark Estates. Did you really not know this?"

"It never came up," Bruce said. He'd known the name of the property but he hadn't paid it much attention. And he'd only ever known Tony as Tony. "What - why? Is this some kind of weird hobby? Pretending to be - " _like me_ Bruce started to say, but didn't know how to finish it without making himself feel worse.

"No, _no_." Tony looked offended at the last suggestion, then apologetic. "Okay. Can kinda see how this looks. But - it's not. It isn't. Here - "

Tony motioned for Bruce to take a seat. When Bruce did, Tony sat in the chair beside him.

"You know most of it. What I guess you missed out on is… yeah, this is mine. I lived here - " Tony gestured to indicate the manor " - it's still mine, all of it. Land, money, everything. When I was younger everything you probably think about rich assholes was me, and then some. But after I came back - "

Tony drifted into silence. There was no need for him to explain what he came back from.

"I couldn't do it," Tony said, when he was able to speak again. "The nightmares, the freak outs, they were worse here. Still are. This - this isn't home to me. I'm not that guy anymore. Or I don't want to be.

"I was at a loss until Barton died." Tony grimaced, indicating he knew how that sounded. "I mean I saw his life, what he'd been doing, and I felt - hell, I felt _envy_. It was real. Uncomplicated. Doing actual work to give people what they needed. Plus making things is what I do best. It's what I _want_ to do.

"I turned running this place over to Pepper," Tony said. "She does it far better than I ever did or could. She makes sure we have money, and it goes where it needs to. As for the rest… I wanted to help people. Make a place that was safe. Like a - a suit of armor that surrounds this whole area. Protecting anybody here. Letting them be happy. Live."

Bruce took all of that in. He felt things slot into place as Tony's words answered questions in Bruce's memories Bruce hadn't even realized were there. "I think you succeeded."

Tony shrugged a single shoulder. "Work in progress. Now your turn."

Bruce rubbed his face with his hands. He was so used to carrying the weight of his secret it was odd to feel like he now wanted to tell. "I did not grow up in a manor. My family was poor. It was the source of a lot of my father's anger.

"After my mother died I wanted to be a doctor. I couldn't afford school so when an opportunity arose to work with the military in exchange for an education, I took it.

"The work was simple at first. Seeing patients, making medicine, much like I do here. But later, when I started working closely with General Ross, it became experimental."

Bruce looked Tony in the eyes. "I was oblivious at first. I thought we were working on something to help with healing, getting wounded soldiers better before sending them home."

"Not so much," Tony guessed.

"No," Bruce agreed. "It was… a drug, is the best way to put it. It was supposed to make them fight better. And they could run faster, lift more weight, stay awake longer, but their hearts couldn't take it, and neither could they. The lucky ones just… stopped. The unlucky ones were like monsters. They attacked anyone who came near them, had violent fits, and screamed in pain before…"

"Got it," Tony said, when Bruce couldn't go on.

Bruce gave a wry smile. "When I found out - well, I told you about my anger."

"Their fits looked pale in comparison?" Tony asked.

"I destroyed the place," Bruce said. "All of the research, the equipment, the experiments. Everything.

"As you can imagine, Ross and the rest of the military weren't thrilled about it. They stripped me of my title and credentials. They wanted to arrest me but I didn't let them. I ran. I've been running ever since."

"Until now" Tony pointed out.

"This place has been a very comfortable suit of armor," Bruce admitted.

Tony stretched out in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, I meant what I said. Long as you live here you have my protection. No matter what else happens. Hell even if you move out I'll still do what I can. Don't have as much to offer if you're not on my property but I hear huge amounts of money solves lots of problems."

"That's actually my only real secret," Bruce told him. "I don't have another 'what else' that could happen."

"Good to know," Tony said. "But not what I was thinking of. More like if you decide you don't want me as a roommate you can say so and still be okay here. On the other hand - "

"What?" Bruce asked, when Tony trailed off.

"I was thinking about making a hot water tank," Tony replied. He grinned at Bruce.

Bruce felt warm. Solid. Like for the first time there was somewhere that could be his. He smiled back at Tony. "It's late. Let's go home."

**THE END**


End file.
